


Between the Shadows

by bulletandsophia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Pining, The Winner's Trilogy AU, period
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 16:15:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13978839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulletandsophia/pseuds/bulletandsophia
Summary: Despite this certain disappointment, Robb understands deep down for would he not fight even in solitude for the woman he loves?





	Between the Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> While I made changes, this fic is heavily inspired by the gorgeous The Winner's Trilogy by Marie Rutkoski. The series is possibly one of the most beautiful stories I've ever read. Been wanting to write Jonsa in the same angst and pining. I hope you enjoy this!

He’s been watching as the crowd envelope her with their golden frills and gowns, hands filled with wine goblets, chatting away as if war has not settled itself just miles away from where they are.

But she just stands there, with a smile plastered on her face as she mingles and Jon feels the longing again for it has been months since he last saw her. Months since she ran away from his manor if only to save the Northern Kingdom from the enemy; if only to marry King Joffrey and end the war once and for all.

But the North will not give up on their princess, they will not let her sacrifice herself. The battle continues on for Lord Eddard Stark and his son King Robb, wanting nothing but to have their dear lady back in the safety of their arms.

As a vassal to House Stark, Jon Snow embarks on this journey to the capital to pass along a message to those in King’s Landing whose allegiance still lay with the northern rebels.

He stands outside the ballroom looking in, clad in inconspicuous black garments, wanting nothing more than to also have Sansa Stark in his embrace. _Again_.

He feels the itch in his palms, the agitation on his legs, the heaviness in his breathing for what would he not do to touch her. To hold her.

 _To kiss her_.

Despite this, a certain truth runs across his mind regretfully that Jon feels a sharp pain in the chest for truly, she is not his purpose here today.

His purpose is to meet with Brienne of Tarth, Sansa’s knight, and discuss the rebellion’s plan of escape for her and the princess. Still, he cannot help but gape now at the red-haired woman that captured his heart, his soul, his everything—and yet still be so far away from it; from her.

Then a moment too soon as Jon still watches her every movement, King Joffrey stands beside Sansa and placed a hand on her waist. He captured her face to meet his for a kiss, for the rest of Westeros to see where her allegiance lay. Jon feels his skin prickle with the view and he has to turn away, wincing, blood boiling at the image before him. He fists his hands tightly before deciding to duck out to the terrace instead to clear his head, telling himself he’s got a mission to complete before the night ends.

*

 

But he doesn’t have to wait long before she arrives, her skirt fluttering behind her like water rippling. Brienne has already left him alone that Jon knows it is only her that approaches now. Like a goddess that answers his calling.

She crosses the threshold, this beauty that endlessly takes his breath away.

 _His Sansa_.

He watches as she stands near the railings and leans towards it with a thoughtful look on her face. Her silver gown cascades behind her back, shining with the moonlight, and her red hair, dark against her pale skin.

Darkly, he asks. “Are you enjoying the celebrations?”

He hears her sharp intake of breath as she turns around to view him, this man who spoke, hiding behind a large potted rose bush. She doesn’t recognize him at first, his features hidden in the shadows, but as Jon walks away and into the light, her eyes widen and her lips parted.

He could feel her heavy breaths.

He wishes for it. He wishes for her to say his name. Then he wishes for so much more than what this night could allow.

Jon is desperate for it. He is desperate for her.

 _Say it. I’m begging you. Say it_.

But she doesn’t. She remains silent and petrified before him. He walks towards her slowly, making sure that the doors block their view from the ballroom and the guests inside. He knows he’s risking a lot by coming to her but at this moment, Jon does not care what happens to him. If he could take her away now, he would.

“I thought you’d never come out.” he says to her as he neared, careful as he places a hand near the railing where she leans against.

She doesn’t speak still but he can make out the red in her cheeks and the water in her eyes. It breaks him for it is not his purpose to see her like this, hurt and vulnerable, but his selfishness overpowers the need to stay faithful to the rebels’ plan of avoiding Sansa so as not to prompt him to do something stupid and rash. It takes all of his strength not to grab her and jump from the terrace, run into the docks, and sail to White Harbor. It would seem so easy, he thinks of it now; the way she had escaped from her room at his manor in the middle of the night, climbing down two stories high from the sunroom and into the stables to steal a horse.

Jon knew then that it would happen, that her courageous heart would let herself be the sacrificial lamb. So at night, he doesn’t sleep if only to hear her movements from the other side of the room. And when it did come, his heart leapt out of his chest as he ran after her, as fast as his legs allowed—and then, it almost stopped beating as he failed to bring her back.

He waits for her to speak of anything. Just so he could hear her voice again. But the tears fall first then he can’t help it, he raises a hand to wipe it away. Sansa closes her eyes as he does so, leaning in to feel his touch.

“So beautiful.” he can only whisper. But as she finally raises a hand to meet his, something catches his eyes he starts to wince again, pulling his hand back in bitterness.

Surprised, Sansa opens her blue ones and then recognized her mistake, finally placing her hand back to her side. Still, he sees it there, gold and shining, wrapped around her finger as if to taunt and to imprint.

To mark a territory.

Her engagement ring.

“So stupid,” he whispers to the night as he looks away. “You’re so stupid.”

 _But so brave_ , he had wanted to say.

Her voice is faint as he first heard her, like a deep murmur from the screaming nightmares of the capital. “How are they? Robb? Father?”

Jon turns to Sansa again and realizes how he wants to kiss her so badly. He looks to her lips, remembering how it feels as it meshes with his; as they made moon cakes by the hearth back at the manor; where there was flour on her face, on his, but the night was young and blissful and the war so far south it cannot touch them then.

But the war has approached them now and tore them apart.

“They are well. And fighting to get you back.”

She looks alarmed.

“Tell them to stop. I won’t go back.” then she takes a deep breath. “This is the only way. You know it to be true, _Jon_.”

There it is. The name finally slips from her tongue.

Jon basks in it wholly.

Without a word, he approaches her and tucks a hair behind her ear. He tries to smile.

“I’ve missed that.” he almost pleads. “Say it again.”

She smiles lightly too, as if in a trance suddenly; with their proximity, with their breaths mixing.

“ _Jon_ …”

He closes the space in between them, angling his head to place a kiss on her lips. He hears her sigh his name again as their lips touch. He breathes her in, tasting her to be so sweet, like the first snow fall of winter and the early sunrise of spring. She is sinful and saccharine; knowing what awaits them in the ballroom, knowing that Joffrey could have his head here and now.

Then as if realizing it too, Sansa pulls away, placing a hand on his chest to keep him at bay.

“No,” she says pointedly. “ _We cannot_.”

It irks him, those words, most especially that it came from her mouth that he loves. Jon takes Sansa by the arm and almost pleads.

“Marry him, fine.” his voice rough. “ _But_ _be mine in secret_.”

“Jon,”

“Or we could run away. Now.”

“ _Jon_ ,”

“Sansa,”

“I have to go.”

His hold only tightens. “You don’t have to!”

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly!”

“He will kill you!” Sansa almost exclaims, freeing her hand from his grip. “He will kill you all!”

“Let him,” he challenges. “Let us see who can pull out his sword first.”

She looks at him with something so forlorn and broken his insides feel cold. This is the face he’d never wish to see again, this face of hers where she is giving up, where she is letting the Lannisters win.

“It is done.” he can barely hear her voice as she says it. Then before she walks away, she reiterated. “It’s over.”

 

*

 

It is only days when words have reached Winterfell. Brienne of Tarth has escaped but Sansa did not. Joffrey has declared her traitor to the realm and imprisoned her. Then with the words came the song of how the princess bled for the sins of the North and how her blood continues to run in the sewage of the capital.

Robb Stark stares outside, looking at the vast, snowy horizon of Winterfell as he ponders on their next move. They’ve recaptured the Riverlands but at what cost? His sister’s life?

It is almost twilight and the news of Sansa’s fate has spread all over the North the people have been offering and praying to the old gods night and day for her safety.

As the King in the North, he feels the failure deep within his skin. He is nothing but ashamed, hoping in his heart that Sansa could forgive all his shortcomings. And he’s more than willing to bask in the disappointment of it all when his squire unceremoniously entered his chambers with a loud pant.

“My king,” he announces. “The Lord Snow… he is gone. Stole one of our horses and journeyed south.”

Robb heaves a breath and looks back to the view, feeling so unsurprised by it all. He knew it would come to this, where Jon would lose his patience and set a new course of action himself. He should feel grateful, he knows, but his friend’s impulsive decisions can cost them the entire war.

Despite this certain disappointment, Robb understands deep down for would he not fight even in solitude for the woman he loves? He knows there’s only one thing that matters to Jon right now.

He can ask a few guards to come after him or have the Onion Knight follow his whereabouts _but no matter_ , as Robb only shakes his head, seeing a small dotted figure amidst the bed of snow going farther and farther away.

No matter what kingly decision he makes, Robb knows he can never stop Jon Snow from saving Sansa. Never, perhaps, in this lifetime.

 

* * *

 


End file.
